


Oh, You're Gonna Be My Bruise

by lupwned



Category: Ocean's (Movies), Ocean's 8, Ocean's Eight
Genre: And Debbie is so in love with her yet so oblivious, F/F, Jealous Lou gives me life, Jealousy, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 12:50:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14955023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lupwned/pseuds/lupwned
Summary: "I was at the bar having a drink when I saw them. She was young and beautiful. Nice smile. Long, brown hair. Reminded me of...” Lou looks up, catches Debbie's eyes.She doesn't finish the sentence, but she doesn't need to. Debbie knows.





	Oh, You're Gonna Be My Bruise

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the Tumblr prompt:
> 
> _I'd love to see a fic where Lou gets hurt and Debbie is all freaking out and trying to take care of her/wont leave her alone because she's so worried_

The day they fight about Claude Becker and his sudden involvement in their heist, Lou leaves and doesn't return for the rest of the night.

Not that it matters to Debbie, because it certainly doesn't. She's hardly Lou's keeper. But there's a sour feeling of guilt in the pit of her stomach that she just can't shake as the night goes on. The team works as a distraction until they all leave just before midnight.

Then Debbie is alone.

On an average night, Lou sprawls beside her, watching Golden Girls reruns and sipping on Jack and Coke on the rocks. They don't really talk, but there isn't a need. It's a comfortable routine that Debbie's come to expect.

She cracks her knuckles and stares emptily at the large living room television. Without Lou there, she hadn't even bothered to turn it on. Her reflection shimmers eerily in the center of the plasma screen. Catching sight of it, Debbie wonders if she always looks this _tired_.

On the other side of the front door, she hears the sound of a keyring jingling, followed by the click of the lock as it opens. Debbie shifts on the sofa to Lou's direction as she walks into the loft, her head down, platinum blonde hair covering her face.

“Where have you been?” It comes out before Debbie has the good sense to think of the consequences of it. Everything in her life is so planned and calculated, but something about Lou makes her quick tempered and impulsive. She shifts nervously and waits for Lou's inevitably snarky response.

“What do you care?” Lou hisses. She shrugs her coat from over her shoulders and hangs it against the wall, keeping her back to Debbie the entire time.

Something about Lou's body language is unsettling. “You ok?”

Lou disappears into the attached kitchen, fumbling through the wooden cabinets for a cocktail glass. “Yeah, Deb, I'm fine.” There's a special stash of liquor hidden beneath the sink that only the two of them know about – strong, not watered down, and certainly not something they offer to the rest of the team. It's either used to celebrate or drink sorrows away.

Debbie guesses tonight it's for the latter.

Lou chooses an amber-shaded whiskey and pours a shot's worth of it into her glass. She leans her head back and takes it quick and straight. The light overhead catches her face and Debbie finally gets a good glimpse of her.

She'd expected bloodshot eyes. Mussed hair. Smudged makeup.

Not a black eye and bloody nose.

The loft is quiet, but even the general hum of the world goes dead silent as all of the blood in Debbie's body drains from her face and ears. Her fingertips tingle and her chest burns. It's an out of body experience as she rushes to Lou, grasping her hands and pulling her close. “What the fuck happened?” she breathes, the tightness in her throat making it difficult to speak.

“Nothing.”

“Sure looks like something,” Debbie says flatly.

“Let it go, Deb.”

There's a voice in the back of Debbie's head that screams. It wants to kill whoever has done this. It wants them to regret the day they were born.

Then Lou speaks again, and all Debbie can think about is being right _here_ , right _now_ , with one hand on Lou's shoulder and the other at her waist, just listening and waiting and hoping.

“I went to the club. I just needed to get away from all of this for awhile. I was at the bar having a drink when I saw them. She was young and beautiful. Nice smile. Long, brown hair. Reminded me of...” Lou looks up, catches Debbie's eyes.

She doesn't finish the sentence, but she doesn't need to. Debbie knows.

“Then he walked over. Some guy, but they're all the same, aren't they? He handed her a drink and whispered in her ear and she laughed. Touched his shoulder. His face. And I just watched. I watched just as I'd watched five years ago and I just...” She sighs. “I snapped.”

“You could have gotten yourself killed.” Debbie doesn't mean to scold her, because she gets it, but _goddamn it_ – she's selfish, and she needs Lou here with her, not beating the shit out of men who remind her of Claude Becker.

“Yes, mom, I know.” Lou rolls her eyes.

Debbie grabs a paper towel from the counter and wets it in the sink. With an unusually gentle hand, she wipes away the dried blood around Lou's nose and cheek. The Aussie doesn't make a sound – not a whimper, not a hiss, not even the tiniest indication of discomfort as Debbie cleans her swollen face. But it doesn't take a genius to realize that the physical pain is the least of Lou's suffering.

“Hey Lou?”

“Mmm?” In their closeness, Lou refuses to look her in the eye. She raises her eyebrows but feigns interest in her fingernails, the hem of her shirt, the chain of her gold necklace – everywhere but the woman in front of her.

Debbie carefully hooks her finger beneath Lou's chin and pulls her head up. The eye contact seemingly breaks Lou, and before she has the chance to say anything else, Lou crumbles in front of her, her lip trembling and her breath hitching and the tears – oh god, the _tears_.

In the decades Debbie's known Lou, she's never seen her cry.

Until today.

Lou has never really been one for hugs or sentimentality. In the corner of the kitchen, beneath the flickering yellow-tinted light, she falls into Debbie's arms, the facade shattering. Tears trickle down her cheeks and against Debbie's neck and shoulder where Lou's face is buried.

“I'm sorry.” Debbie's palm splays over Lou's back, rubbing, calming and soothing with the stroke of her fingertips.

“Promise me Deb,” Lou mumbles into the nape of Debbie's neck. “Promise me you've thought this one through. Because I can't-”

Her breath hitches, and Debbie's heart breaks with it.

“I can't do this again. I don't think I'd survive it.”

Debbie nods slowly, almost like she's trying to convince _herself_. Is this how Lou felt all these years ago? Helpless to stop the self destruction staring her right in the face? She runs her fingers through the hair at Lou's head and promises.

Promises with her words.

Promises with her lips.

Makes a promise that, for once in her life, she intends to keep.

**Author's Note:**

> Your comments fuel the author. If you've enjoyed this piece or would like to read more in the future, take a second below to say hi and share your thoughts :) And thank you for reading!


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